tw.togreenangeltower2-第93部分

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　　　　　　　Slowly　。。。　ever　so　slowly　。。。　the　wheel　began　to　turn。
At　first　it　was　almost　a　relief　to　be　rotated　down　toward　the　ground。　The　weight　shifted　from　both　his　arms　to　his　wrist　and　ankle；　then　gradually　the　strain　moved　to　his　legs　as　the　chamber　turned　upside　down。　Then；　as　he　rolled　even　further　downward；　blood　rushed　to　his　head　until　it　felt　as　though　it　would　burst　out　through　his　ears。
　　　　　　　At　the　bottom　of　his　revolution；　water　splashed　just　beyond　him；　almost　wetting　his　finger　tips。
　　　　　　　Above　the　wheel；　the　immense　chains　were　again　reeling　up　into　darkness。
　　　　　　　〃Couldn't　stop　it　for　long；〃　rumbled　a　downside…up　Inch。　〃Bellows　don't　work；　buckets　don't　work…and　the　Red　Rat　Wizard's　tower　don't　turn。〃　He　stood　staring　for　a　moment　as　Simon　slowly　began　to　rise　toward　the　cavern　ceiling。　〃It　does　lots　of　things；　this　wheel。〃　His　remaining　eye　glittered　in　the　light　from　the　forge。　〃Kills　little　kitchen　boys。〃
　　　　　　　He　turned　and　lumbered　off　across　the　chamber。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　It　didn't　hurt　that　much　at　first。　Simon's　wrists　were　so　securely　bound；　and　he　was　stretched　so　tightly　against　the　wheel's　wide　rim；　that　there　was　very　little　movement。　He　was　hungry；　which　kept　him　clearheaded　enough　to　think；　his　mind　revolved　far　more　swiftly　than　the　prisoning　wheel；　circling　through　the　events　that　had　brought　him　to　this　place　and　through　dozens　of　unlikely　possibilities　for　escape。
　　　　　　　Perhaps　Stanhelm　would　e　when　it　was　sleeping　time　and　cut　him　loose；　he　told　himself。　Inch　had　his　own　chamber　somewhere　in　another　part　of　the　forge：　with　luck；　Simon　could　be　freed　without　the　hulking　overseer　even　knowing。　But　where　would　he　go？　And　what　made　him　think　that　Stanhelm　was　still　alive；　or　if　he　was；　that　he　would　risk　death　again　to　save　a　person　he　barely　knew？
　　　　　　　Someone　else？　But　who？　None　of　the　other　foundrymen　cared　if　Simon　lived　or　died…nor　could　he　much　blame　them。　How　could　you　worry　about　another　person　when　every　moment　was　a　struggle　to　breathe　the　air；　to　survive　the　heat；　to　perform　backbreaking　work　at　the　whim　of　a　brutish　master？
And　this　time　there　were　no　friends　to　rescue　Simon。　Binabik　and　Miriamele；　even　should　they　somehow　make　their　way　into　the　castle；　would　surely　never　e　here。　They　sought　the　king…and　had　no　reason　to　believe　Simon　still　lived；　anyway。　Those　who　had　rescued　him　from　danger　in　the　past…Jiriki；　Josua；　Aditu…were　far　away；　on　the　grasslands　or　marching　toward　Nabban。　Any　friends　who　had　once　lived　in　the　castle　were　gone。　And　even　if　he　somehow　managed　to　free　himself　from　this　wheel；　where　would　he　go？　What　could　he　do？　Inch　would　only　catch　him　again；　and　next　time　the　forge…master　might　not　devise　such　a　gradual　torment。
　　　　　　　He　strained　again　at　his　bonds；　but　they　were　heavy　ropes　woven　to　resist　the　strains　of　forge　work　and　they　gave　not　at　all。　He　could　work　at　them　for　days　and　only　tear　the　skin　from　his　wrists。　Even　the　spikes　that　held　the　knotted　ropes　against　the　wheel's　timbers　were　no　help：　Inch　had　carefully　driven　them　between　the　strands　so　that　the　rope　would　not　split。
　　　　　　　The　burning　in　his　arms　and　legs　was　worsening。　Simon　felt　a　drumbeat　of　real　dread　begin　inside　him。　He　could　not　move。　No　matter　what　happened；　no　matter　how　bad　it　got；　no　matter　how　much　he　screamed　and　struggled　for　release；　there　was　nothing　he　could　do。
　　　　　　　It　would　almost　be　a　relief；　he　thought；　if　Pryrates　came　and　found　that　Inch　held　him　prisoner。　The　red　priest　would　do　terrible　things　to　him；　but　at　least　they　would　be　different　terrible　things…sharp　pains；　long　pains；　little　ones　and　great　ones。　This；　Simon　could　tell；　was　only　going　to　bee　steadily　worse。　Soon　his　hunger　would　bee　a　torment　as　well。　Most　of　a　day　had　passed　since　he　had　last　eaten；　and　he　was　already　thinking　on　his　last　bowl　of　scum…flecked　soup　with　a　regret　bordering　on　madness。
　　　　　　　As　he　turned　upside…down　once　more；　his　stomach　lurched；　momentarily　freeing　him　from　hunger。　It　was　little　enough　to　be　grateful　for；　but　Simon's　expectations　were　being　very　slight。
　　　　　　　The　pain　that　burned　his　body　was　matched　by　a　fury　that　grew　within　him　as　he　suffered；　a　helpless　rage　that　could　find　no　outlet　and　so　began　to　gnaw　at　the　very　foundations　of　his　sanity　instead。　Like　an　angry　man　he　had　once　seen　in　Erchester；　who　threw　everything　in　his　house　out　of　the　window；　piece　by　piece；　Simon　had　nothing　to　fling　at　his　enemies　but　what　was　his　own…his　beliefs；　his　loves；　his　most　cherished　memories。
　　　　　　　Morgenes　and　Josua　and　Binabik　and　the　others　had　used　him；　he　decided。　They　had　taken　a　boy　who　could　not　even　write　his　own　name　and　had　made　him　a　tool。　Under　their　manipulation　and　for　their　benefit　he　had　been　driven　from　his　home；　had　been　made　an　exile；　had　seen　the　death　of　many　he　held　dear　and　the　destruction　of　much　that　was　innocent　and　beautiful。　With　no　say　in　his　own　destiny　he　had　been　led　this　way　and　that；　and　told　just　enough　half…truths　to　keep　him　soldiering　on。　For　the　sake　of　Josua　he　had　faced　a　dragon　and　won…then　the　Great　Sword　had　been　taken　from　him　and　given　to　someone　else。　For　Binabik's　sake　he　had　stayed　on　in　Yiqanuc…who　could　say　that　Haestan　would　have　been　killed　if　the　pany　had　left　earlier？　He　had　e　with　Miriamele　to　protect　her　on　her　journey；　and　had　suffered　because　of　it；　both　in　the　tunnels　and　now　on　this　wheel　where　he　would　likely　die。　They　had　all　taken　from　him；　taken　everything　he　had。　They　had　used　him。
　　　　　　　And　Miriamele　had　other　crimes　to　answer　for。　She　had　led　him　on；　treated　him　like　an　equal　even　though　she　was　a　king's　daughter。　She　had　been　his　friend；　or　had　said　she　was；　but　she　had　not　waited　for　him　to　e　back　from　the　quest　to　the　northern　mountains。　No；　instead　she　had　gone　off　on　her　own　without　even　a　word　left　for　him；　as　though　their　friendship　had　never　existed。　And　she　had　given　herself　to　another　man…delivered　her　maidenhood　to　someone　she　did　not　even　like！　She　had　kissed　Simon　and　let　him　think　that　his　hopeless　love　had　some　meaning　。。。　but　then　she　had　thrown　her　own　deeds　in　his　face　in　the　crudest　manner　possible。
Even　his　mother　and　father　had　abandoned　him；　dying　before　he　could　ever　know　them；　leaving　him　with　no　life　and　no　history　but　what　the　chambermaids　had　given　him。　How　could　they！？　And　how　could　God　let　such　a　thing　be？！　Even　God　had　betrayed　him；　for　God　had　not　been　there。　He　was　said　to　watch　all　creatures　of　His　world；　but　He　obviously　cared　little　for　Simon；　the　least　of　His　children。　How　could　God　love　someone　and　leave　them　to　suffer　as　Simon　had　suffered；　for　no　fault　other　than　trying　to　do　right？
　　　　　　　Yet　with　all　his　fury　at　these　so…called　friends　who　had　abused　his　trust；　he　had　greater　hatred　still　for　his　enemies：　Inch；　the　brute　animal…no；　worse　than　any　animal；　for　an　animal　did　not　torture；　King　Elias　who　had　thrown　the　world　into　war　and　blighted　the　earth　with　terror　and　famine　and　death；　silver…masked　Utuk'ku；　who　had　set　her　huntsman　after　Simon　and　his　friends　and　had　killed　wise　Amerasu；　and　the　priest　Pryrates；　Morgenes'　murderer；　who　had　nothing　in　his　black　soul　but　self…serving　malice。
　　　　　　　But　the　greatest　author　of　all　Simon's　suffering；　it　seemed；　was　he　whose　ravening　hatred　was　so　great　that　even　the　grave　could　not　contain　it。　If　anyone　deserved　to　be　repaid　in　torment；　it　was　the　Storm　King。　Ineluki　had　brought　ruin　to　a　world　full　of　innocents。　He　had　destroyed　Simon's　life　and　happiness。
Sometimes　Simon　felt　that　hate　was　keeping　him　alive。　When　the　agony　became　too　strong；　when　he　felt　life　slipping　away；　or　at　least　passing　out　of　his　control；　the　need　to　survive　and　revenge　himself　was　something　to　which　he　could　cling。　He　would　stay　alive　as　long　as　he　could；　if　only　to　return　some　measure　of　his　own　suffering　to　all　who　had　abused　him。　Every　miserable　lonely　night　would　be　repensed；　every　wound；　every　terror；　every　tear。
　　　　　　　Revolving　through　darkness；　in　and　out　of　madness；　Simon　made　a　thousand　oaths　to　repay　pain　for　pain。

　　　　　　　At　first　it　seemed　a　firefly；　flitting　on　the　edge　of　his　vision…something　small　that　glowed　without　light；　a　point　of　not…black　in　a　world　of　blackness。　Simon；　his　thoughts　floundering　in　a　wash　of　ache　and　hunger；　could　make　no　sense　of　it。
　　　　　　　〃e；〃　a　voice　murmured　to　him。　Simon　had　been　hearing　voices　through　this　entire　second　day…or　was　it　the　third？…upon　the　wheel。　What　was　another　voice？　What　was　another　speck　of　dancing　light？
　　　　　　　〃e。〃
　　　　　　　Abruptly　he　was　pulled　free；　free　of　the　wheel；　free　of　the　ropes　that　burned　his　wrists。　He　was　tugged　onward　by　the　spark；　and　could　not　understand　how　escape　could　be　acplished　so　easily。。。　until　he　looked　back。
A　body　hung　on　the　slowly　circling　rim；　a　naked　white…skinned　form　sagging　in　the　ropes。　Flame…hued　hair　was　sweat…plastered　on　its　brow。　Chin　sagged　on　chest。
　　　　　　　Who　is　that？　Simon　wondered　briefly　。。。　but　he　knew　the　answer。　He　viewed　his　own　form　with　dispassion。　So　that's　what　I　looked　like？　But　there's　nothing　left　in　it…it's　like　an　empty　jar。
　　　　　　　The　thought　came　to　him　suddenly。　I'm　dead。
　　　　　　　But　if　that　was　so；　why　could　he　still　dimly　feel　the　ropes；　still　feel　his　arms　yanked　to　the　straining　length　of